As The World Falls Down
by applythepressure
Summary: Are you still sad, Violet, after all this time?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: And I'm back with another story! Don't you worry, _**Oh, How It Burns**_ will soon be updated. But I thought that this would be an interesting premise. What happened to our lovely Murder House residents much later in time? It will not be too long – only a few chapters – because I do want to finish _**Oh, How It Burns**_ and start other stuff.

I have taken my title from the song by David Bowie. I don't own it, though I do possess an infatuation with Jareth the Goblin King.

_**As The World Falls Down**_

The world didn't end abruptly like everyone believed it would.

It ended so gradually that it snuck up on you and suddenly you were confronted with the undeniable fact that society as we knew it was over. It was more like a sigh than a bang, a slow, soft, stuttering gasp of someone on his or her deathbed rather than a nuclear bomb or a hurricane. And like the grieving family giving comfort to each other, too busy to notice that the reason for their gathering has flatlined and they have missed the moment that they have morbidly been waiting for, the world was surprised by its own demise, staring darkly and unforgiving back at the pathetic mess society had created.

Yet the house remained, strangely impervious to the many manmade and natural attempts to dismantle it. Storms, disease, bulldozers, and pollution were no match for the evil that anchored it and its ghostly inhabitants to that otherwise unremarkable plot of land.

And now, they are still here, trapped as they look out to see what the world has become.

* * *

Violet is not sure what year it is anymore, not that it matters since the outside counts time by the smog storms that billow around the open carcasses of the neighboring houses. The democratic government is no longer – true democracy is a faded thing of the past – and a dictatorial system has replaced it. The leader of the coup – Cavanaugh, she thinks his name is – claimed his takeover was to enact an expert force to clean up the cities and reform the country's infrastructure, but Violet has seen no change and, according to the spotty radio broadcasts she sometimes picks up, neither has the rest of the living world. She snorts because despite all that has happened, human nature has not changed at all.

"Typical."

She readjusts her radio, an old battered thing that she bravely stole from the wreckage nearby last Halloween. She had run out of the house to see if she could escape the property, always expecting to be thrown back into the kitchen, but this time, she stumbled right off the grounds into what used to be Constance's yard. She was so bewildered by her escape that she didn't notice the rabid dog growling at her and barely escaped a bite on the leg. But she got that radio before the dog almost got her and she smiles at the memory.

Shaky static hisses through the speakers and she frowns, whacking the machine gently since she knows that the wires can become loose over time. She turns the tuning dial so that the impassioned announcer's voice comes through a bit more clearly.

"In other news, President Cavanaugh has announced that he has instituted martial law for the entire country due to the devastating storms that have been systematically hitting the Mid West…"

She sighs and gets up as the host details the storms' path of destruction. Ever since the pollution got out of hand, horrible storms whip up from seemingly out of nowhere and will suffocate you on debris and dust in an instant.

For once, maybe this hellhole is better than the hell outside.

And Tate was right.

The world really is a filthy, goddamn horror show now.

She shivers.

And they will really see it through until the end.

* * *

Tate cannot help but bitterly laugh at the outside. Wasn't he right? Wasn't he always right? And everybody looked at him like he was crazy. Not that he was denying that they were right about the screws he even admits are a tad loose, but he savors the feeling of triumph. He knew about this so long ago and now everyone is just getting with the program. He feels like he is a prophet, privy to the secrets that only a few know and tasked with disseminating them to the poor souls around him. Back then – he is not sure how long since his existence in the house knows no end and he doesn't remember the beginning nor does he care enough to try – he was like Cassandra, trapped in the worst prison contrived. He knew beyond all doubt that he was right, but no one would listen to him. He was beating his head against a wall because he could not communicate what he infallibly knew. But slowly, the outside began to see the truth of his words as did the denizens of the Murder House. He knew before. The outside knew now. He doesn't know when she figured it out, but she was smart.

"And look who's had the last laugh."

He smirked. She was quick, that one. It was just one of the many reasons that he had fallen so hard for her.

"Me."

"You got that smug grin."

He turned around to face her and she could see that his gloating smile showed too many teeth.

"Let's just say I like to win."

She inhaled sharply and the sound of air whooshing past her canines made him smirk even wider.

Because he knows she didn't miss the other meaning behind his words before she slammed the door shut.

* * *

The air is too polluted and volatile for the ghosts to safely go outside anymore. Between the disgusting stench of refuse and rotting animal carcasses and deadly pieces of glass and steel that cut through skin as a knife does through butter, the outside was not a pleasant place to be. Her parents hardly ever took the baby out anymore. Moira just looked at the winds sorrowfully and Violet wondered what went through her mind. Sometimes she would catch him looking out at the world beyond, but she didn't have the courage to look at his face to see what emotions, if any, he held there. She herself longed to go out, longed to inhale clear, cool air instead of the stale atmosphere in the house even though her death made breathing an option instead of a necessity.

"How did this happen?"

Vivien joins her at the window, bouncing her baby brother in her arms gently.

"I'm not really sure, Mom."

"The world was already so full of sadness when we came here."

"We were the ones full of sadness, Mom."

"I suppose you're right, but we couldn't have been the only ones in the world who were so profoundly unhappy."

"No, we couldn't have been."

The silence stretches eschatologically between them because all time is encompassed in the present. Past and future were not longer distinct blocks of time. All time was connected and affected by all events. It was a curious feeling for Violet, but she suspected that when you are immortally dead like she is, the philosophical debates she could have on time would be pretty epic, for lack of a better word.

"Are you still sad, Violet?"

After so long? For all that happened to us? To you? To what you had with him? Violet knew the unspoken questions that were corollaries to Vivien's spoken one.

"Yes. No."

Vivien places her hand on Violet's shoulder.

I understand.

She speaks in answer to her mother's silent response.

"Do you?"

Vivien searches her eyes and sighs.

"I have tried to make peace with our fate, so I have tried to understand the best I can."

She pulls Violet into a tight hug, making sure not to crush the baby still in her arms, who is soundly sleeping.

"I'm not you, Violet. I cannot decide for you how you feel about everything. You alone must choose how you will live the rest of our time here."

"So if I choose to live it with him, you will accept that?" She hated the eagerness that crept into her voice, but it had been so long.

"I won't be happy, but I'm not you. You need to live for yourself, Violet, as much as we can given our peculiar situation." Violet couldn't help snorting because using peculiar as the adjective to describe their undead existence seemed grossly underestimated to her. "Do what makes you happy. I want you to be happy even if it makes me unhappy."

Violet blinked back tears.

"Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry."

Vivien cradled both her children in her arms and that was enough.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Vivien just held and shushed her softly as Violet's warm, salty tears fell into her sweater.

* * *

He didn't want to interrupt their moment because he knew he would not be a welcome sight for either of the Harmon women. But he couldn't help the rush of cruel joy – for it was cruel because he didn't know how fast it would be taken away – when he heard Violet speak.

"So if I choose to live it with him, you will accept that?"

When he went to sleep that night, he whispered his first prayer, which was tinged with the first flicker of hope he had felt in a long time.

"Just one more chance. All for her."

* * *

A/N: What do you think? Reviews are always loved.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: And I'm on a roll. Thanks for all the love you show my stories! I want to make my stories sound melodious – I want to compose them of what I call beautiful sentences, where the string of those particular words evokes a response in my gut. And one of my reviews for _**Oh, How It Burns**_ had one of those sentences – "when Tate just kept breaking things and himself." So I hope my lovely reviewer Captivation does not mind if I use a variation of this sentence here because I fell in love with it so.

And the song I listened to while writing this was "Hatefuck" by The Bravery. It's perfect for them.

This chapter is mainly flashback to provide the background leading up to the events you read in the first chapter.

_**As The World Falls Down**_

Before the world ended, she could hear him breaking himself in the basement.

She could feel it too.

Screams wretched from a mouth experiencing unfathomable pain. Thuds of hands connecting with concrete and stone. Flutters of a heart slowly dying.

She tried to block it out, but his cries echoed through her dreams and took up permanent residence at the edges of her waking mind. She couldn't escape them, especially when he would repeat the agonizing ritual daily.

Thwack, creak, boom, shatter.

Eventually the frequency of these horrible episodes decreased and she noticed that his moving away from physical pain only meant his embracing emotional pain instead.

Now the lack of noises made her even more frightened because she no longer could hear his pain, which made the roar of hers only more encompassing.

The end of the world did little to drown it out.

* * *

In the beginning, he just kept breaking things, including himself. He was a ghost possessed – either by his demons or the ones of the house. He had to destroy because then perhaps he would destroy his anguish in the process.

A lamp.

A skull.

A chair.

A vein.

They're all the same.

As time kept cruelly passing, he felt his need to physically harm himself temper. However, his pain was just as great and the mental battering he gave himself rivaled all the injuries he endured in the basement.

You lost her. You had the girl of your dreams and you lost her. You broke your promise. Your hurt her. She'll never forgive you. You're a monster.

It was a broken record, ruthlessly replaying his flaws and mistakes over and over in his head.

The end of the world did nothing to still it.

* * *

They didn't talk for a long time. But then they started talking again after an odd incident, which he now chalks up to fate.

Violet was walking past the living room window when suddenly a particularly strong gust of wind lifted a brick off the front yard and hurled it through the glass straight at her head. She barely had time to react when he materialized behind her and pushed her out of the way. He could feel the bones in his hand protesting as he deflected the brick in the opposite direction.

He rushed towards her, not caring that they weren't talking or that she hated him. He just saw the girl he loved looking scared on the floor and wanted to comfort her. He kneels down next to her, looking earnestly at her face, searching for any pain.

"Shit, Violet! Are you alright?"

She looks up at him and then around the room, confusion and suspicion reigning over her facial expression.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

She heaves herself back up. He pushes off the floor to stand behind her and he can tell in the set of her shoulders that she is all too aware of his presence.

"That was freaky."

"Yeah."

She starts walking out of the room, but she stops and turns slightly in his direction. Her eyes remain on the floor.

"Thanks."

And even though the world had already ended, for Tate and later for Violet, that word was a new beginning for them.

* * *

They began talking more. Nothing big, just little greetings in the hallways, but to him, it was enough for a while. Then they started playing cards and Scrabble again. Short hellos turned into conservations about music and birds. Violet made no mention of anything that had happened before and Tate took his cues from her. He didn't want to remind her about before if that meant they would go back to him breaking bones in the basement and her crying every night.

They were in her room watching the storms of debris rage outside. They hadn't spoken for a while, so when she does, her voice startles him out of his thoughts.

"I always thought that the storms were beautiful."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They are like swirling columns of memories. I see things, belongings, and I wonder whom they belonged to, what they might have meant."

He just looks at her and she scuffs the floor nervously.

"Sorry."

"What for?"

"I'm not exactly normal."

"No, you're not."

Now it's her turn to stare at him.

"You're extraordinary."

* * *

They had begun to spend more and more time together. She even laughed in his presence once at a joke he made. He had missed that sound so much and when he finally heard it again, tears sprang to his eyes. He took it as a sign that they were slowly, but surely, healing even as the world outside fell further to pieces.

* * *

She never thought that they would grow somewhat back together, much less over a rogue brick. When she looked back at him, peering into those dark orbs shining with such tenderness and concern, her breath was knocked away and all the emotions she had thought she conquered long ago bubbled up like lava.

Then they started hanging out more and she was wary at first. She wasn't sure if this was a game, his way of getting revenge, and she wasn't about to chance it. But slowly her guards came down and she allowed herself to enjoy her time with him. She refused to let the poison of the past seep back in.

But other ghosts weren't willing to do the same.

* * *

"How could you, Violet?"

"Dad –"

"No, Violet, I don't want to hear it! He raped and killed your mother! He killed Patrick and Chad! He lit Larry on fire! Don't tell me that you forgot!"

"No, I didn't forget! But maybe I was sick and tired of being sad and angry all the time! Maybe I was willing to put it in the past! Maybe I wanted to finally be able to heal!"

"Your family –"

"Don't you dare fucking tell me that I should be loyal to my family first and foremost when you turned your back on Mom and fucked Hayden! You fucking hypocrite!"

Ignoring her father's words, she ran to her room and slammed the door, collapsing on her bed and choking on her sobs.

Because now she had to choose to break her family or herself.

* * *

After that, Tate didn't see her for what seemed like ages. There they were, back at square one. And he could feel him devolving back into the splintered ghost he once was and the thoughts that he thought he had banished began creeping back. He turned bitter.

The world really was a goddamn horror show. He knew it all along. Because what other kind of world would give him the hope of another chance with her and then yank it away?

So when he finally heard Violet speak, he couldn't help but savagely and ruefully smirk like the monster everyone told him he was.

"And look who's had the last laugh."

"Me."

"You got that smug grin."

"Let's just say I like to win."

Once she had slammed the door shut, he finished.

"But I would rather just have you."

* * *

So when he heard Violet talking to her mother, the least he could say that he was shocked because he thought Violet no longer wanted anything to do with him.

"So if I choose to live it with him, you will accept that?"

His eyes go wide.

She wants to live it with him?

And suddenly joy and hope rushed through his entire body, but he clamped them down. What if he lost her again? What if it is a sick game? A horrible prank? He knows he wouldn't be able to handle it.

But he knows he will try his hardest for her because that is the least she deserves.

"Just one more chance. All for her."

For another beginning in the end of the world.

* * *

A/N: The story will progress in the next chapter, I promise! Reviews are loved!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: And here is the final installment! Don't you worry, _**Oh, How It Burns**_ will be back soon.

_**As The World Falls Down**_

It didn't take her long to find him.

He figured she would seek him out soon enough.

* * *

On a particularly unusually peaceful day, she found him sitting on the back porch, head leaning against the stairs' railing and looking at his loosely entwined fingers. Her heart skittered because in that second, he embodied the Tate she thought he was so long ago, before she found out the hideous truth that made both of them emotionally battered beyond repair.

She sat down next to him and they were silent for a few minutes because there was so much to say. Like what she said to her mom. What he overheard her say to her mom.

"You shouldn't be out here."

"Yeah."

"So why are you?"

He turns his head slowly so he can stare into her eyes.

"I don't know. To feel the thrill, to take the risk that a storm could come by any second and tear my insides out. So I can live a little."

"It's not safe."

"And what, you think I'm safer in this house?"

Well, the boy definitely has a point there.

She sighs. "It makes me nervous."

"What, me being out here?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Such an insignificant word, but such an immensely important and powerful question.

"Because I don't want you getting hurt."

"I won't, as long as you're here with me."

She smiled at him. That smile felt like summer had descended down on him, freeing him from the cruel, unfeeling winter that his sins had condemned him to for so long.

"Wanna play a game with me?"

He smiled back.

"Of course."

* * *

He groaned as a slow smile spread across her face.

"Uno."

Running his fingers exasperatedly through his hair, he stuck his tongue out at her and looked down at his hand of at least ten cards. "It's not fair."

"Aw, don't be such a sore loser."

Suddenly the cards started flapping like newborn birds struggling to take flight from the ground they so rudely careened into and when they glanced up, they saw eddies of dust and rubble forming. From the time each of them had spent staring outside through the windows, they knew a storm was coming and fast.

She tried to scoop up all the cards, but the wind had already kicked up and some of them flew away. And, for some reason Tate couldn't fathom, she ran after them.

For a moment he could only stare at her, dumbstruck. But then when she ducked and was narrowly missed by a flying two by four, he was snapped back into reality and rushed after her in the storm, the visibility decreasing every second as more dust swirled into the noxious air.

"Violet! Violet! Where are you?"

God, he was going to find her a shredded mess if he didn't get to her soon. Shit. Shit!

A sharp pain exploded in his side as some shards of glass embedded themselves into his obliques. He gasped, sucking down a lungful of God-knows-what, which induced an intense coughing fit. Falling to his knees, trying to rid his body of the toxins he just inhaled, he looked up to see – nothing.

* * *

When the end of the world came around, there was one thing all the ghosts learned quickly – don't get stuck in a storm. It could be extremely painful and quite disorienting; one time Troy and Brian got trapped and when they finally had enough wits to materialize back into the house, they were so cut up that Moira had to spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning spilled blood off the kitchen tiles.

And here he was, doing exactly the opposite of what he should, trying to find a girl who could be all of two feet away from him and he wouldn't know.

"Violet!"

He could only call her name once more before a mouthful of dirt and shattered metal clogged up his windpipe. He dropped to all fours, fighting the urge to curl up in the fetal position and hope his limbs would be enough protection, and started crawling in the direction he thought she had gone.

Probably only five minutes passed, but it felt like hours.

Beneath the howling of the wind, he somehow heard a groan.

And then he found her.

She was hunched over, face pressed to the ground, fists balled up tightly over her ears. Despite the warning signs that she was less than unscathed from the storm's ferocity, he could feel the relief washing through him like a cool drink of water on a hot day.

He army crawled to her as fast as he could, wrapped his arms around her, and willed them to materialize back to the house.

The cold of the kitchen floor never felt so good.

* * *

He only allowed himself a second to gather himself before turning to her and lifting her head with his hands to make eye contact with her.

"Violet, Violet! Are you okay?"

She was bleeding profusely from a cut on her forehead, but he knew head wounds bleed easily. He got a washcloth from the sink to staunch the bleeding, watching the red bloom onto the white fabric as he placed it on her forehead.

"Violet, answer me!"

And thank God, she gave him a weak smile.

"Hey, Tate."

Those two words shattered his adrenaline-induced armor and he slumped against her, exhausted and crying softly because she was okay. She was okay. She was okay.

"I'm fine, Tate."

He must have said that out loud, but he didn't care. He tightened his grip on her shirt as if she would fly away back into the storm if he wasn't anchoring her to the house.

The last thing he remembered before falling into a sleepy stupor was a light kiss planted on the top of his head.

* * *

They must have been sleeping against the cabinets for a while because when Tate awoke, he had the most awful kink in his neck. Looking up at Violet, he saw that she was still asleep. He got up and brushed off his sweater before gently picking her up and carrying her to her room. As he laid her on the bed, she stirred slightly and opened her eyes, smiling at him softly.

"Hey."

"Hey, sorry I woke you. I thought this might be a bit more comfortable."

"Thanks."

He stood at the side of the bed awkwardly, wanting so much to crawl next to her and hold her but not knowing if she wanted him to. She patted the side, giving him the answer he had so desperately hoped for.

"Come on, you must be tired."

He climbed in and rested his head on the pillow, looking deeply into her eyes and she blushed under his gaze.

"Why did you run out there?"

She dropped her eyes and played with a loose thread on the comforter.

"Vi?"

He picked up her chin so they were looking at each other again.

"Why? You scared me half to death."

They ignored the horrible pun.

"I needed to know."

The perplexed look on his face made her heart beat faster and she wondered if he could hear it.

"Know what?"

"That you would come after me."

He was silent as she continued.

"I needed to know that you still wanted to come after me, that you still cared after all the shit we went through, after all the pain I put you through. I needed to know that I still mattered to you."

She couldn't bear to look at him because she was so, so afraid of his answer.

"You are the only thing that matters. I will always come after you."

She starts crying at his answer and he hopes to whatever deity might exist that it is tears of joy, not sadness. She nestles into him and he cannot remember the last time that he was so consumed with happiness.

"Tate, I've missed you so much."

"I know."

"How do you know?"

"I overheard you talking with your mom."

He lets his words sink in, terrified that she will pull away again after learning about yet another way he has broken her trust and invaded her privacy.

"I didn't mean to overhear –"

She puts a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"You know how I felt. How I feel. That's not going to change."

"So you're not mad?"

"I've spent the better part of my existence angry. I don't want to be mad anymore. I just want to be with you."

"That's all I want, too."

The storm still raged on outside, but the house still stood and they still began anew as the world fell down around them.

* * *

A/N: The end! Reviews make me smile.


End file.
